


butterfly muffins

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Graphic descriptions of gore, Heavy Angst, Torture, Vomiting, graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22996498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: Wilson pays a visit to Wes' base.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. the visit

He'd been following the path to Wes' base for some time now, occasionally opening the map to check that he was going the right way. An occasional signpost told the way towards the other survivor's bases, but he genuinely didn't have the time to stop and chat.

He passed a small, fenced-in area of grass gekkos, lazing away in what remaining daylight there was left, bushy-tailed and ready for another grass harvest.

There was another fenced-in area with berry bushes, hound traps planted next to them to immediately kill any Gobblers that had made a home out of them. 

Those greedy, stupid birds had an alarmingly annoying tendency to go towards whatever food was in their sights. For some reason, this included the poisonous red mushrooms.

He continued following the path.

Wilson blinked, and he was at the entrance to Wes' base. He could've sworn that it took him longer than five minutes to get here, despite the feeling that he blinked and was suddenly there.

He took a moment to look at the glyphs on the walls, if only to admire their handiwork. And Wes' evident handiwork in putting these back together.

The valuable material had such a lovely sheen. It'd definitely look a lot better when the sun set, he'd reckoned, blinking a little, fingers tracing one of the glyphs in the wall.

He'd distracted himself again, thoughts of shiny things, frivolous things, gems, gold, what have you, flitting across his mind until he forcibly shut them out. Valuable, but a lot of the shinier things in life serve little purpose, and there wasn't much science to be done with them.

He shook his head again, focusing on the task at hand. Meet with Wes, then bugger off back to his own base.

Wilson ambled towards the fence gate, knowing that it was the entrance via a cursory glance at a pointy sign, elegantly placed next to it. Thulecite walls gave way to wooden ones, pickets and all, tied up securely with a few helpings of rope. The wooden pickets gave way to little wooden fences, small and easy to hop over, but nice-looking, and these fences gave way to a double gate.

Awfully grandiose, and Wes had plans to include stone walls around the place, and maybe even moon rock walls once he found the materials, or so he'd been told the last time he came round here.

Stone walls weren't flammable, and neither were moon rock walls. Maybe he was planning on replacing the wooden ones with stone ones? Or maybe moon rock, it'd offer a better colour contrast to the thulecite. Wes did painting when he had the spare time and materials, so he'd probably know what he wanted in time.

Perhaps he wanted some extra defenses against the hounds or something.

His stomach growled as he opened the fence gate and entered, shutting it behind him. Maybe he ought to make this quick, he didn't want to annoy the owner of the place too much by asking for food or anything.

Despite the rest of eternity spent surviving in the wilderness, he still had some manner of internal etiquette. If only because he didn't want to end up shouted at, and because Wickerbottom tended to prefer it if you were polite.

Wes was waiting for him, seated in front of the fire pit, able to overlook the entrance to his base from his position. He seemed to perk up when seeing Wilson, eyes brightening. The mime gave an exaggerated wave, then took something out of his pocket and offered it to him.

A butterfly muffin. Not the most filling thing, but still, it could probably keep him going until he scrounged up the materials to make meatballs.

Pink icing that melted in one's mouth, butterfly wings as a deliciously healing topper, along with being situated on a bready muffin, often with some butterfly wings inside it for extra nutritional value.

"For me?" Wilson felt like he had to ask on that one, gingerly gesturing to himself. For all he knew, he could've been asked to take it to someone.

It was highly unlikely he'd say no to taking a nice bit of food to someone. (Or, rather, he was hungry enough to eat the food and then end up trying to remake it in a panic.)

Wes nodded, a wide smile on his face.

He blinked a little, taking it into his hands, silently appreciative that the mime was giving it to him. Something nagged at the back of his mind, told him that it felt off, but he ignored it for the sake of being polite. He doubted he'd be able to articulate it well enough anyways.

"Are you certain it's for me?" He asks, just to clarify.

Wes nods again.

"It looks delicious." A quick 'thank you' was hastily added to the end of that sentence, remembering the whole etiquette thing.

(Wickerbottom probably would have side-eyed him if she were here.)

Wes beamed, straightening his posture. He really was a cheery fellow if you gave him some acknowledgement and encouragement.

Perhaps not the most talkative, but actions often spoke louder than words.

He gingerly turned it around in his hands, not quite wanting to eat it yet despite the pangs of hunger.

The fire crackled. Wes shifted a little, perhaps uncomfortably, at least, until he heard a growl from the scientist's stomach.

The mime gestured to Wilson, who, unfortunately, seemed rather embarrassed by this. He gestured for the scientist to eat the muffin, a slightly amused look on his face.

It didn't help the burning in his ears and face much.

"Do you not have one for yourself?"

Wes shook his head, then expressed that it was a gift for him.

A gift. It'd be rude if he didn't eat it.

After an internal battle with his politeness and his gut feelings, he decided to at least sate his hunger and have a bite to eat.

It tasted… very much different to the usual recipe. A fair bit more filling, as if there was something else in the small bit of bread instead of the usual butterfly wings.

Whatever it was, it was satiating. Though, it definitely tastes odd.

He had eaten red mushrooms before, but he didn't really taste any bitterness in this. Besides, heat neutralizes the poisons within the red mushrooms. Cooking them made them give somebody a headache instead of coughing up half of their stomach contents with a bit of blood.

"This is nice." Be polite. There's no point in trying to burn bridges here. He'll probably be stuck forever with the mime anyways, might as well make the most of it. "What recipe did you use?"

Wes fanned his face a little, as though thanking him for the compliment, then he shrugged, and expressed that he might have winged it as best as he could without the usage of words.

"That's what I usually do." Wilson muttered through a final mouthful of muffin, then he swallowed it.

That's the end of that, then.

At least his ears had stopped burning out of embarrassment.

Wilson watched as Wes fiddled with his gloves and then his sweater, then went over to his chests to find something. He wasn't sure what.

He blinked a little, not particularly noticing the world had become a little grayer. A little less saturated. Too bright. He just assumed that it was the everlasting anxiety about the dark.

Once bitten, twice shy and all.

A shadow monster lurched just outside of his peripheral vision.

Strange, he didn't particularly expect the night to start affecting him that quickly.

The fire crackled in the background, heat dancing across his face, far too bright to look at, but even that was starting to sound far away.

"Mm. Need to get going, the sun is setting." At least, that's what he thought he said. What actually came out is garbled nonsense, and he didn't realize until a moment later.

There was a cold sweat running down the back of his neck and following his spine.

He attempted to stand up and take a step, only to end up tripping over his own two feet and to end up falling forward. Wes was there to catch him in his arms.

He could feel the mime fiddling with his hair as he wriggled, trying not to pass out. His limbs felt like lead, numb and far too heavy, and there was a horribly sudden sense of nausea as the world around him spun and shimmered.

Wilson lost consciousness fairly quickly at that point, simply shutting his eyes and ignoring the sudden awareness of his internal organs.


	2. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes prepares a few things.

Wes gingerly lowered Wilson to the ground, smile all but wiped from his face as he went back to the chest he'd left open and procured some rope from it, and some grass.

One rope and several bundles of grass later, and he had a straw roll.

Another several bundles of grass later, and he had a fair quantity of ropes.

He set the straw roll down and dragged Wilson onto it. The mime wheezed a little, rubbing his back. That man was annoyingly heavy, he suspected that the bloke's weight had something to do with it, but that really wasn't any of his business.

He set to work on tying the scientist to the straw roll.

It took him a few minutes to do the task. It also took him a few minutes to check that the ropes wouldn't snap.

He finally smiled again, all too wide and cheery and he kicked open a hatch behind the crock pots and ice boxes. Nobody ever bothered to check behind there, they probably assumed he was storing food for himself or some other junk.

Wes took the bedroll with the scientist in tow, and he tied it to another length of rope for easier transportation, then pulled the thing towards the cellar.

Silently as always, he pulled the amalgamation of rope and straw roll with Wilson in it down the stairs, and he slams the hatch shut from the inside.

He left the straw roll behind while he busied himself with getting the table ready, hanging his lantern on a hook that he fished up from the sea and proceeded to incorporate into the design of his cellar.

It lit up the underground hideout well enough anyways.

There was a quiet groan from the stairway, and Wes turned his head to look at it, almost nervously. The mandrake shouldn't be wearing off so soon. Maybe he ought to have used some more in the muffin, but that risked making it too big and noticeable.

He glared. It wasn't a look that belonged on his distinctively round and babyish face.

The amount of time he had was definitely drawing thin. He quickly made sure that the restraints on the table were ready and checked over the integrity of the table.

All clear.

He ambled over to the tied-up survivor that he had on a bedroll, silently undoing the ropes and looping his arms under Wilson's. Then he dragged the poor bastard over to the table, and hoisted him up on the flat surface.

Wes adjusted the table to prop Wilson up into a half-sitting, half-lying position. Sort of like a hospital bed.

Thankfully, he had a decent amount of foresight to bugger about and make some adjustments to the table. Winona had asked what he wanted the adjustments for, and he responded with a few vague gestures. Something about a folding table being useful.

He gingerly lifted Wilson's head with a gloved hand and placed a pillow under it.

That should keep him sleeping long enough for him to do the restraints.

Wes smiled, before grabbing the lengths of rope that he'd used to tie the scientist to the bed roll in the first place.

Within the span of about five minutes, the unconscious body was tied to the table. Wes doubted that he'd be able to break free from the restraints. He'd done a few double-knots just to make sure.

A neat little thing he'd learned from Willow, at the very least.

Wes stood up to his full height and moved to the nearest fridge in the basement.

He opened the door, viewing what was inside, and selected a few lightbulbs. Depending on how long this would take, he might need more than a few. He turned them around in his hands, before pocketing them -- those things always came in useful. Besides, if he wanted to shut the scientist up, it would be all too easy to simply shove one into his mouth.

That'd work.

Wes felt himself smiling again, almost giddy with anticipation as he refueled the lantern with a fairly fresh lightbulb. He couldn't wait for Wilson to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuuuuugh. can you believe this took a few days to make? maybe i ought to become a faster writer. anyways, this isn't required reading, but it does help connect some things .


	3. the physio session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's definitely tied down to that table, right?

His head was pounding. Annoyingly common these days, but it was something to complain about.

An attempt was made to open one of his eyes, only to find that the world was still spinning. Far too bright, too. He shut that eye again and whined quietly to himself.

He really did hate it when he was alarmingly aware of his insides.

Wilson could hear footsteps and the creak of unoiled hinges as an icebox was opened. He elected to ignore them, considering his head was still pounding and he'd really very much like five more minutes in unconsciousness.

He took a shaky breath, and tried to hum. It was a trick that they'd been taught in medical school by the professor, and he suspected that the poor bloke was tired of having new trainees vomiting their guts up.

He eventually opened one eye, then the other. The world still spun, but it was more of an annoyance, if anything, and not likely to make him throw up at this point.

He could see a lantern, and he appeared to be on some sort of table.

Anything that wasn't lit up by the lantern was far too dark to see at the moment.

With the dreadful headache slowly going away, Wilson came to the realization that a lot of his body parts ached. It was a level of minor discomfort at most, but, given that he had what was essentially considered a massive headache upon waking up, it was certainly safe to say that he'd take the minor amount of discomfort he was currently feeling over a headache that caused him enough nausea to think about his old professor.

He blinked, then huffed out a sigh. Mother was pissed that he didn't particularly like medical school.

He wriggled a bit, ceasing the humming, then looked down.

Oh. So that was why he couldn't move.

He was tied to the table with rope. Finely woven, he might add.

This was going to chafe. And his limbs would probably get stiff, too. In addition to that, his throat, while it wasn't sore, he was fairly certain that his voice was going to sound rather hoarse.

A couple more levels of minor discomfort. Because of course the universe had it out for him.

Wilson yawned, debating with himself on whether he should try and go back to sleep or not. He turned his head, his cheek meeting a... pillow? Definitely made out of grass, probably dyed and stuffed with even more grass.

He could hear footsteps.

Wes appeared in the light, giving a little wave as he practically loomed over the shorter man. The scientist glared.

"Whaddya want, Wes?"

That might've come off as a little snippy, but it wasn't Wickerbottom he was talking to. And, arguably, he'd just woken up with a massive headache and with a few complaints about being uncomfortable in various minor fashions.

Still, it was… maybe it was mildly unintentional.

Maybe Wes didn't deserve that prior bit of rudeness.

He cleared his throat the best he could, muttering out a quiet apology. Wes stood there, almost glaring at him, before simply smiling.

Then he rummaged about in his pockets and brought out a moon glass cutter.

The shards used to make it glimmered in the lantern's light, and Wilson shrank back. The cutter was evidently modified, the wooden handle being an… odd addition, to put it simply.

He'd originally dismissed them as simply not worth the hassle, given that they broke quicker than a regular spear would.

Wilson stared at it, his blood running cold.

Wes edged a little closer, a little more into the light.

"What are you… Uhm… what are you planning to do with that-"

The mime shrugged, feigning innocence, before pointing the serrated blade at him, then drawing closer.

"Wes, this isn't funny." Wilson hoped that panic didn't seep into his voice far too much as he tried to be stricter with the man. "Can you please untie me?"

Wes simply shook his head.

The blade glinted, before the mime lowered it, then strapped it to his toolbelt.

The gentleman scientist wasn't entirely sure how to react, simply blinking as Wes came closer, then…

Began undoing his waistcoat buttons.

Wilson felt himself blush a brilliant crimson. This was disgraceful! The utter indignity, the chutzpah-

"Wes, what the fuck?" A rare use of coarse language by Wilson as he wriggled a bit in his restraints to try and at least get the mime to stop undoing his waistcoat buttons.

Wes stopped for a moment, if only to fiddle with one of the buttons and wiggle his eyebrows.

"Are you… flirting with me?" The scientist asked, sheer confusion and indignation practically etched into his face.

The mime shook his head, prompting even more confusion from the poor bastard, before undoing the last of the buttons on his waistcoat, then moving to begin to undo the ones on his shirt. Wilson couldn't do anything but watch. His ears wouldn't stop burning, whether out of embarrassment or indignity, he wouldn't know.

One button undone, and his collarbones were on full display, as well as some chest hair.

Wes simply cocked his head. What a hairy little man. He paused again to gauge the scientist's reaction, fiddling with one of the buttons as he watched.

Wilson seemed hilariously confused, brows drawn together as he watched Wes. The mime would have laughed if his vocal chords still worked properly. 

Wes shrugged, that wasn't his problem right now, and he booped the scientist on the nose with a gloved finger, much to the poor sod's continuing utter confusion, then continued unbuttoning the bloke's shirt.

The man's bare chest was finally visible. He didn't particularly understand why the man wore so many layers. The mime gingerly nudged the opened waistcoat and shirt a bit to widen the opening.

Odd, there appeared to be a couple of scars on his chest, slightly raised tissue. Definitely not quite normal, but it wasn't his business to judge. He traced the scars with two fingers. Wilson shivered in discomfort.

"Uh, do you-- do you mind? I'm not sure why you have me tied up and all but I'd really rather you- um, didn't touch those." He muttered. Wes knew he was referring to the scars, and simply took his fingers off them, before unhooking the glass cutter from his toolbelt.

"Wait, wait, what are you doing-" The scientist's voice rose in fear as he stared at Wes, eyes widening.

Wes didn't care.

He tapped once, twice on the man's chest, before sinking the serrated blade into flesh. A few cuts was all it'd take to expose the internal organs.

A scream rang out, and Wilson barely realized it was his own. It died down after a moment as his breathing quickened and tears sprang into his eyes.

It felt like he couldn't talk.

He attempted to thrash in his restraints, only for Wes to outright stab the glass cutter into him. A strangled noise escaped him as Wes took it back out and made two more cuts in his stomach. One just above his pants, and one just below his ribcage.

Wes simply huffed, near-satisfied, then brought out a couple of sharp bits of flint. The cuts he made were in the shape of a T, except there was also a line on the bottom of the letter. Like closed doors.

It took him a few grasps to get the flap of skin, but he pulled the right flap to the side and stabbed it into the poor sod's flesh with the flint.

Wilson howled, arching his back in pain.

The man's internal organs were in full view now. Aside from the fact that he'd probably have to make another cut to get access to the ones that were in his ribs.

Wes sighed, blinked, then took the left-hand flap and stabbed the flint into it, hoping that it went through and into the man's flesh.

There was a wheeze from the scientist. Evidently, he was already starting to tire himself out.

His gloves were already bloodied and dirtied with the man's blood. How annoying.

Wes elected to slap the man that had unwittingly caused that in the face, partially as a way to wake him up and partially as a means of vengeance. Unsurprisingly, there was a fairly alarmed noise in response to that from Wilson, who really wasn't all there in the first place, given that he was currently viewing his insides.

His breathing quickened once more, and Wes could see his heart beating just behind the ribcage, along with his lungs moving.

Quite an interesting lesson in biology.

Wes grinned, booping Wilson's nose again with a bloodied finger.

The scientist took a deep breath. "Why are you doing this?"

Strange, there wasn't any venom or a single hint of malice behind the man's voice. If anything, he sounded awfully resigned to this, perhaps mildly confused. Maybe it was the huge amount of deaths he'd had, Wes recalled Wilson telling him that he'd lost count of how many times he'd died a long time ago.

The mime shrugged again, brows furrowing as he adopted a pose to suggest that he was thinking, pacing a little, before lifting his index finger, a look of inspiration on his face.

He takes out a little electrical doodad.

The sight of it caused Wilson to look at him, confusion amongst a tired expression on his face. "Wh-what are you…" He slurred out, swallowing back bile and flinching. He was annoyingly aware of his insides, even more so that he could actually see them.

Wes grinned. Yellowed teeth amongst a pale, makeup-clad face with rosy cheeks.

He gingerly tapped some of Wilson's hair with one of the coiled ends of the little battery, causing the fuzzy batch of hair to frizz up even more than it already was.

As if he hadn't been inconvenienced enough.

Wes made sure his friend's hair was frizzy and held a static charge, much to the discontentment of the scientist as he shut his eyes and writhed in the restraints.

He eventually gave up with trying to loosen the ropes that bound him to the table, simply groaning quietly with muted annoyance.

Wes took some intestines out, grinning and showing them to the scientist. The sight of them made Wilson gag quietly in disgust, maybe some of that was due to how much pain he was in, hell if he knew.

He choked back more bile as he watched Wes mess with his internal organs, moving his liver and his stomach.

Then the mime placed the electrical whatsit in there.

Wilson convulsed involuntarily, unable to focus on the silent man. He twitched and writhed, shutting his eyes tightly enough to the point where colour exploded in his vision.

The electrical thingymajig was taken out.

Wilson cracked open an eye.

He huffed, quietly, before retching and spilling a fair amount of his stomach contents.

Wes watched as he (involuntarily) did this, cocking his head as the stomach acid irritated his skin and stuck to his chest hair.

A quiet whine sounded out from the scientist.

"I wanna go home."

The mime stared at him as Wilson shifted a little in his restraints and shut his eyes again, shivering and muttering to himself.

Another slap should wake him up.

Wes backhanded him, a fairly smug smile on his face as he condescendingly wagged his finger, before getting out two pieces of flint.

"Please don't…"

He ignored Wilson's pleading, unbuckling a hammer from his tool belt.

Perhaps he should have tied down the man's wrists a little better. He positioned one piece of flint, much to Wilson's chagrin, and used the hammer on it.

There was a quiet sob from the other man as Wes hammered his hand to the table.

It was deliciously ironic. A man of science being hammered to the table like how God's son was hammered to the cross.

Wes would have laughed if his vocal chords worked.

And now for the other.

The mime positioned the piece of flint above the scientist's hand, an important body part for doing science in general, lowered it, and then hammered it down into the middle of the hand.

Wilson muffled an indescribable sound by biting down on his lip, enough to the point where he'd caused it to bleed.

Wes raised a brow, before hammering one of the flint stakes to prove a point.

"Wha' are you even gettin' outta this?" Wilson mumbled out, blearily blinking up at the mime.

He shrugged in response to the question. Maybe it was for the thrill of it, or maybe it was to see how the human body worked. Either way.

He gently pinched on the stomach inside the scientist's body, causing the man to shiver.

The intestines that he'd left out wriggled like snakes, obviously wanting to be returned to their rightful owner.

He hammered the flint stake that he hadn't just hammered down previously, before watching as blood oozed from the impaled hand. Blood was dripping from the other one, too, coating Wilson's gloves in a nice little shade of red.

Wilson just whimpered, trying to wriggle his legs.

Wes took out two bits of flint in response and held one of them above the scientist's foot, threatening to hammer those in as well. He immediately stopped wriggling.

The mime noticed that Wilson was already starting to bleed out. Perhaps it was due to both the impaled hands and the flaps he'd made to gain access to the man's organs.

He simply smiled, before gently running a hand through Wilson's hair, to which he responded with trying to bite the hand.

He got a backhanded slap for his troubles.

A shame he wasn't more talkative, really, Wes mused to himself as he took out several lengths of intestines.

Wilson mumbled to himself. He couldn't do anything but watch. Things were already starting to sound far away.

Wes ran a hand through his hair again, and he muttered something about blood getting in it, offhandedly, before simply shutting his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent two days on this chapter.


	4. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell and Wes have a little chat.

"So, what did you find?" Maxwell asked, keeping his tone and expression neutral. He had to hide his disdain for the mime if he wanted to work with him, after all.

Wes gestured. In an extremely vague fashion.

"Nothing?" Oh, how he despised having to play charades with this man.

Wes nodded.

"Well. So much for that, then. And how is he faring?"

Wes shrugged. He hadn't really bothered to check recently.

"You've done a damn good job of terrifying him is what you did. Wickerbottom won't be pleased."

Wes stood up properly, displaying his full height, and pointed towards the exit.

"Fine, fine, if you insist. His mental state still matters in the long run, don't act surprised if he's damn well terrified." A pause. "Hell, he might even run from you."

Wes huffed, then pointed towards the exit to his base more insistently.

"Alright, no need to get snappy now. I know when I've overstayed my welcome."

Wes rolled his eyes.

Evidently, that disdain ran both ways.

**Author's Note:**

> so this was essentially a ripoff to that one mlp fic that's called Cupcakes. maybe this will get notorious, maybe it won't. maybe i'll make a couple of alternate endings.
> 
> also, wilson is fine in the end btw. resurrection exists.


End file.
